


The Feast of Aziraphale

by Sodium_Azide



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Azirafeast, Cuddling & Snuggling, Day At The Beach, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Gentle Kissing, M/M, Post-Canon, Snake Crowley (Good Omens), South Downs Cottage (Good Omens), Strong Aziraphale (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-20
Updated: 2020-11-20
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:55:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27639200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sodium_Azide/pseuds/Sodium_Azide
Summary: A day of quiet celebration on the beach near a cottage in the South Downs.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 14
Kudos: 64





	The Feast of Aziraphale

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the #Azirafeast celebration on Tumblr and Twitter. Just some fluffy silliness for the November 19th Feast of Aziraphale.

Crowley stretched languidly and yawned, various vertebrae clicking, and settled himself more thoroughly into his little hollow of sunwarmed sand. The salty breeze was turning his hair into a fluffy mess, but he couldn’t even pretend to care. He was considering shifting into a more legless form for an easier bask, as it was. 

A gentle sigh and the papery sound of a closing book wouldn’t have been audible to a human, but Crowley had thoroughly honed his predator-sharp senses into what served his needs best: being aware of what a specific angel was doing at any and every moment. The sigh was a good one, and the little creak of the twee folding beach chair implied that a wiggle was happening, so Crowley didn’t bother opening his eyes. 

“I was thinking that it might be nice to have lunch soon, my dear. Are you hungry?” Aziraphale sounded pleased with life and the universe as a whole. He gave a low hiss in response, then twisted part of himself over so that he could look at his angel directly. “Dy’need me t’do ennethin’?” he mumbled. The sun was perfect, and he could feel that he was becoming significantly scalier than the average beachgoer. 

Aziraphale patted his thighs twice before rising from his chair, as he had been doing for a thousand years, and made his way the few steps through the shifting sand to kneel down and stroke down Crowley’s spine indulgently. He groaned and melted into the sand more like a fallen ice cream than a fallen angel. Aziraphale hummed and gently brushed the sand off of the black scales that had bloomed across his shoulders. “Nothing, my dear. Let me go fetch the hamper.” Crowley closed his eyes. “C’n help iffy’wan’.”

His angel gave his little tinkling chuckle and stood. “You just keep on as you are, darling. Lay there supine and be beautiful. That will please me best.” Crowley considered burying himself to escape the embarrassment but decided that wouldn’t help. 

Crowley had nearly dozed off again by the time the angel returned, walking carefully, but he could still hear the steady thumps of Aziraphale’s footsteps. A larger thud that he could actually feel, then the angel’s soft hands were on him again, petting him gently. His pleased hum was entirely involuntary, but rose into a sad little whine when the hands left again. His awful, merciless angel giggled at him before abandoning him. 

He yawned wide enough for his jaw to click, and stumbled to his feet, but stopped in surprise. Aziraphale was again seated in his little chair, but now he was beside a fully-set, food-laden carved wooden table that usually lived in the conservatory. He remembered that table, and the difficulty in trying to lever the beautiful, but heavy thing into place before snapping his fingers and letting a miracle finish the job. His angel placed a bottle of prosecco back into a frosted bucket of ice and gestured at him with a effervescent glass. “Come join me my dearest.” He patted his lap, and Crowley slouched into the most comfortable place in the world, legs dangling as he snuggled into his angel. Aziraphale held up the cut crystal, and he took a sip and settled into place. “Thought you were gonna’ bring the hamper.” 

Aziraphale hummed and took a sip from the same glass, tucking his other arm around him securely. “Well, I decided that we needed more than would fit in the hamper, and it seemed a waste of a miracle, so I just set the table and carried it out. Do you object to supper al fresco?”

“Didn’t say that. Just surprised. You figured we needed...gosh, eight different types of cut fruit, that charcuterie you were so excited about, plus the board, and an entire chocolate cheesecake, plus...an entire case of this prosecco, apparently, wow-but decided that I didn’t deserve a chair of my own?”

Aziraphale offered the glass again and he took a bewildered sip from the angel’s hand. The angel gave him an entirely unselfconscious grin. “I wanted to hold you.”

Crowley hid his face in the angel’s hair for a moment. He had to clear his throat before he could continue with any confidence. “Yeah, ok. Sure. This whole dining experience is fine. So the hamper was a waste of a miracle, but bringing the table down wasn’t?”

Aziraphale blinked at him in confusion. “Why would I use a miracle to bring the table?”

“This whole thing, with all the food and bottles and everything, must weigh a hundred kilos, minimum.” Crowley rolled his eyes and unsuccessfully attempted to claim the glass of prosecco, only to be batted away as the angel insistently brought it up for him to sip from his hand. Pressing a kiss to his cheek, the angel set down the glass to pick up a slice of mango and offer it to him. “Neither the table, nor you, are too heavy for me to move about easily, dearest.” Aziraphale smiled. “If you wish, I’ll carry you on top of it when we go home, like those palanquins, oh remember those?” he sighed reflectively. 

Crowley leaned more heavily on the heavenly chest he was resting on. He sometimes forgot that his gentle, soft angel still had a core of divine steel. “Reckon you could pick me up with one hand?” he teased. Aziraphale offered him a strawberry and nodded. “Like scruffing a kitten, my dear.”

“Ngk.”

Aziraphale chuckled at him as he determinedly chewed the strawberry. He was enjoying the differences between growing houseplants and tending a garden, and the strawberries had really outdone themselves in their efforts to please him. The greenhouse was crammed, although the outdoor garden was about on its last legs with the advent of winter.

“So.” Crowley started. “Why are we out here on this weirdly nice day in November, instead of indoors like normal people.”

Aziraphale hummed at him and finished their shared glass of wine, and refilled it before answering. “Many centuries ago, today was my feast day. November 19th, the Feast of Aziraphale. I have never celebrated it myself before, but a little self-indulgence seemed just the thing now that we’re here, in our own cottage, my own darling.” Crowley reached for the glass, and this time Aziraphale let him lace their fingers together as he sipped. There was probably at least a couple more hours of sunlight left, and although Crowley had his suspicions about the gorgeous weather, the breeze made him grateful for the warmth of the angel’s lap. 

Aziraphale tightened his arm around his waist. “So as the official arbiter of today’s celebrations, I brought us out here, so I could indulge.”

“Y’could indulge just as well inside, not that I’m complaining.”

The angel beamed at him. “But you couldn’t sunbathe inside. I wish to feast, my dear. And you are what I will feast on. I will sate myself on you enjoying yourself. And as you do so, I will enjoy you, oh my very dearest love.”

Crowley tried to hide his face again, but was efficiently thwarted by an ex-servant of Heaven pressing kisses to every visible freckle. Blushing horribly, he was sure, he managed to snatch another strawberry and take a bite, then give the rest to his angel, who held him tight and looked at him like he was the only thing worth seeing ever again. He had to make a couple of attempts, but eventually managed to clear his throat. “Happy Feast of Aziraphale, I guess.” he murmured shyly.


End file.
